


Valiant

by nothinggold13



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Battle, Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:46:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothinggold13/pseuds/nothinggold13
Summary: "I want your confidence, Peter, but I cannot remain idle forever. Please, give me this chance."Lucy is known as the Valiant Queen. Unlike her sister, she rides into battle, and fights for her country with weapons instead of words. But how did she earn this title? What made her siblings finally allow her to fight in battles, when surely they tried to protect her as long as possible? When did Lucy become the valiant warrior she was meant to be?





	Valiant

Mr. Tumnus scampered into the High King's bedchambers, and set the tray he carried down on the small table next to the bed. King Peter lay ill. Queen Susan sat next to him, a chair positioned close by his right side, as King Edmund paced thoughtfully near the foot of the bed, and Queen Lucy sat in another chair to the High King's left. There was stone in her face.

The news had come at the worst of times. There were whispers: rumours of outlaws; remnants of the Witch's army gathering in the north. Their numbers were thought to be few, yet the threat of them cooperating was great enough. ("Easily dealt with, but best dealt with soon," Oreius had told them.) Even if the gathering army proved larger than expected, both kings, (now young men,) were certain of themselves.

But the High King was bedridden; fallen to fever, and suffering nausea and dizziness. His body was weak, and he could hardly walk, let alone fight, though not for lack of trying. He had pushed himself hard those first few days when he began to feel sick, and it had taken a near mutiny to get him to rest. Of course Lucy had offered him a drop from her cordial, but he had refused. The King Peter was stubborn, and perhaps too independent for his own good, and he insisted that the cordial only be used in great need. He knew he would heal. He also knew others may not without its help. He wouldn't risk it, and that was that.

Six years had passed since they'd begun their reign, and they were less and less children every day. Sometimes, they thought, it felt like only yesterday. Other times it felt like a lifetime. They were kings and queens now, and they were loved.

The High King sought council with his brother and sisters now. An army was being built against them, and they owed it to their people to remove the threat, but Peter couldn't fight, and he'd never allow Edmund to go alone. The young king was formidable, they all knew. He was an excellent soldier: agile, passionate, and focused. But no matter how his skills grew, he remained Peter's younger brother, and Peter would not risk losing him for anything. They'd never gone into battle without the other.

"Edmund," Peter began, as Susan finished wiping at his forehead with the cool cloth Tumnus had brought for her. "How long can we reasonably wait?"

Edmund stopped his pacing and turned to his brother, his eyes twinkling momentarily. It was unintentional. Edmund's mind danced between strategies as he asked himself all the same questions that haunted his brother, but he was relieved, if only for a second, by Peter's earnestness. He managed a half-hearted grin, and answered. "Not as long as you need. We need to act quickly." He settled his body into the chair next to Lucy's, and began drumming his fingers on the arm. With a deep breath he continued. "I can lead them, Peter."

"You're not going without me." There was a glint in Peter's eyes as he glared at his brother.

"You know you're not well enough to fight."

"I can try." He began to heave himself up, pushing his blankets aside.

"No, Peter, you will not," Susan reprimanded. She'd long since earned the name "Gentle," and even in her viciousness she maintained it. Here, she acted as caretaker, and she took on the role dutifully. "You need rest now. Doesn't he need rest, Tumnus?"

The faun in the corner refused to meet the High King's eyes as he nodded.

Peter stared accusingly at him only for a moment, though he knew it wasn't Tumnus' fault. "So what can we do, Susan?" he shot back at his sister. "I am useless here, and someone must go with Edmund."

The two stared each other down, warring with each other over the High King's fate. Certainly Susan wouldn't let Edmund go alone, either. (If it was reasonable, she wouldn't allow him to go at all.) But she knew her elder brother would force himself into his armour and drag himself into battle if nobody stopped him, and she would never allow that either. He was too sick right now, too weak, and yet, still too stubborn to fight with. The people called him "Magnificent." He'd earned the title early on, as he began to win battles, and as he began to win the peoples' hearts. Surely the Magnificent King would not let down his people, even at great risk to himself. He called it strength. Susan called it vanity.

Then, a quiet voice interrupted their pointed silence. "I'll go with him."

Both Peter and Susan turned sharply in its direction.

Lucy, sweet Lucy, sat up a little straighter and met their eyes. "I'll fight with Edmund. We'll lead the people."

The silence stretched awkwardly between the four of them, until Susan found her voice. "No. Absolutely not."

But Lucy got a glimpse of Edmund and Peter as they both lowered their faces and grinned. They'd seen her train, of course. They'd even fought with her on occasion. Surely they hadn't thought that she'd begin seeking battles, but they no doubt knew her strength and skill.

Susan saw their not-so-carefully hidden smiles as well. "Peter! How can you? Tell her no. Talk some sense into her!"

Edmund glanced away from Susan, almost amused, and then caught Lucy's eye with a half-smile. In a low voice he said, "You and I have played enough chess. Surely you know we would never risk our queen."

"Surely you know that it's even less sense to risk your king," she answered.

Edmund turned his eyes to Peter, who studied them carefully. The brothers were speaking to each other, the silent way they did in battle. _Yes. No. Run. Help. Stay. Stop._ It was a trick they'd learned in necessity, though now they used it more often than not, even just around the castle. Lucy couldn't tell what they were thinking. She sometimes wondered whether they knew, themselves.

Susan, evidently, would not wait for them to come to a conclusion. "I won't allow it." Her gaze turned sharply to the only other person in the room. "Tumnus! What do you say?"

The faun trembled where he stood, and met the eyes of each of the kings and queens, Lucy last of all. He seemed to consider every one of his words before daring to speak. "All due respect to Your Majesty... I know you are a skilled fighter. You are fierce, and brave; no doubt more than a match for most common soldiers. But if it were up to me...?" He held Lucy's gaze a moment longer, and then dropped it. "No. I wouldn't have it. My dear Queen, I could not bear it if we lost you. No, I don't think I could." Then, looking suddenly upon Peter and Edmund, he added, "No offence to Your Majesties, I hope. I would not do well to lose you, either. But your sister..."

"We understand, dear friend," Peter said, his voice kind. Edmund nodded.

Susan's voice was sharp. "See, Lucy? Even your oldest and dearest friend would not let you in battle. Think of him, will you?"

Lucy had been keeping remarkably calm during all of this. The others knew her to have a dreadful temper, and a stubbornness to match even Peter's, and they'd been wondering all along when she might lose it. But she'd been practicing for this moment.

"I have thought of him," she began, as stoic as she could manage, "but why is it that the best the boys can do for him is fight, while the best I can do is stay here? I can fight as well as them, or at least almost, and I would do anything for my people."

Her siblings shared a look, and Peter exhaled loudly. "You're too young, Lucy. You're still a child."

Immediately her calm exterior began to crack. "I'm older than you were when you first fought!"

"We were children, too." The way Edmund spoke these words seemed to be some kind of answer, but Lucy could not determine its meaning. She gazed at him thoughtfully; hopefully. "Lucy, have you been afraid?"

Her first instinct was to say no, though she knew it would be a lie. "Who hasn't?" she replied, choosing for this moment honesty over valour.

"Have you stood with an army at your back, and another before you; the world resting on your shoulders, and your knees shaking from the weight? Have your prayers turned to pleas, desperate and hopeless, faster than you could recognize them? Have you watched the sword go in and come back out, and heard the sound it made? Have you watched your soldier, your _friend,_ fall dead beside you, and had to remind yourself that you couldn't grieve until the battle was done? Lucy, do you know what _any_ of it is like?" Edmund's voice shook as he recounted his experiences, sharing them for the first time. He had refused to dwell on them before. He was a fighter. He insisted on it. Edmund would fight, and bleed, and die for his people if he was asked. But to let his little sister do the same? They called him "Just." Surely his beginnings had been anything but, but the young king had since proved himself. He was thoughtful and wise, and he used his wits to serve his people, and if his being honest would protect his sister, then he would share his horrors without shame.

Susan looked rather ill now, and Peter looked grave. But Lucy stood, trembling not with fear, but with rage. Her voice rang out desperately. "Have you stayed awake at night holding your sister, because your brothers were fighting a battle you had no part of, and you had no way of knowing whether they were even alive or dead? Have you hidden in the bushes with no more than a dagger as the enemy rushed by, knowing your Saviour, your _King,_ was lying dead on the table before you? Have you been sent away from the side of your dying brother to tend to the wounded? I was a child then, and I saw the same horrors you did. I've seen the same grievous wounds, and felt the same fear, but I am older now, and I can bear more formidable weapons. I'd rather be afraid than useless. So take the world off your shoulders and put it on mine, Edmund. I am your _sister,_ not your peasant."

"No one doubts your courage, Lucy," Peter confessed. "I'm almost ashamed to say it, but here our fear is greater than yours. Even the best soldiers fall, and our hearts would not recover if you were among them."

Lucy settled herself for a moment, before kneeling next to Peter's bed and grasping his hand. "Peter, I wouldn't recover any better if it were you. But if you and Edmund will fight for our people, then I will, too. It's not our hearts or our lives that matter. It's theirs."

Susan's voice cracked as she tried again to deter Lucy. "Would you really leave me alone, Lu? The nights our brothers are gone may be dreadful, but at least we can suffer them together. Would you truly leave me alone with my worry?"

Lucy lowered her eyes and continued to hold her brother's hand. "You have been my greatest comfort, Susan, and you know that. But I must do my own part, now. I simply must! By Aslan's grace, I am able to fight, and if my brother, the High King, will allow me, then I'll do it for my people. For _our_ people."

"And what if I don't allow you?" Peter asked.

Lucy's gaze turned sharp. "I want your confidence, Peter, but I cannot remain idle forever. Please, give me this chance."

Peter and Edmund looked at one another again. They were desperate to refuse her; to keep their baby sister forever out of harm's way. She was growing far too fast. They all were, of course, but they didn't feel their own age the way they saw Lucy's. Lucy, who had been such a sweet thing when they'd first arrived, was now a young woman, and she was as strong-willed and proud as her brothers. Oh, she was still sweet. She'd always be sweet. But she was stronger now, too.

Finally, Peter spoke. "You may ride with the archers, but I don't want you in close combat. Now, the two of you will have to leave as soon as you can. We don't want to waste time."

Lucy scrambled to her feet, her face flushed, and nodded gratefully. Edmund stood next.

"And Edmund," Peter added, his eyes growing dark. "If anything should go wrong, Lucy leads the retreat."

* * *

As it happened, there was no retreat. The gathering enemies had fought well, but they were a small group, as expected, and were hardly ready for an attack. The Narnians were very lucky.

And Lucy did as she was told, utilizing her skills as an archer with deadly precision. It was only when the battle was done that she dared to approach her brother, and when she did, Edmund hugged her tightly. It was a first for him, too, to lead the charge without his brother by his side. And best of all, they'd been successful.

There'd been deliberation over Lucy's title from the moment she'd received her crown. Lucy was as gentle as her sister, of course. She was just and magnificent, too. She was outstandingly loyal, and kind-hearted, and generous. But after that day, the people knew what to call her.

She was sweet as sugar, hot as fire. She was passionate and fierce and precious and dear. She had a heart of gold, and the hands of a healer. She was Lucy Pevensie.

She was Queen Lucy the _Valiant._


End file.
